23 years to freedom

Chapter 1 The first 5 years

I was born in 1970, my Mother was 16 years old and my Dad was 19 when I was born, I was created on my moms 16th birthday in a car at a drive-in movies. My father was a steel mill worker, and my Mother dropped out of high school when she found out she was pregnant with me. I don’t have any memory’s of the first 3 years, but 10 months and 14 days after I was born, my little sister made her way into this world. from what I’ve been told, I was kind of jealous of her, because she was getting more attention. which naturally lead to fights between her and me, my first core memory is from about 1973, my Aunt was moving from one house to another, mom, got my sister and me back in the car, and she forgot how to get back to my aunt’s new house, with my help we found the house a few miles away, there were no car seats back then, we just bounced around the back seat, playing and whatnot.
My next major memory was my ability to figure out how to overcome obstacles, I had a knack for getting into stuff or places I wasn’t supposed to be, one day my aunt was baby sitting both of us, and both our parents came home late after work, and my aunt had locked the kitchen door from the top of the door, me and my sister had it in our minds that we wanted to make breakfast, mostly me, but she was a participating party to what was about to happen. The obstacle was the locked kitchen door, and the lock was 6 foot up on the back side of the door, swinging bar doors style, so we or me had to get high to unlock them, my sister and me moved a table over in front of the door, then we got a chair on top of the table, I was able to climb up and stand on the chair and reach the lock to get into the kitchen. The real fun was about to begin, we proceeded to make our version of breakfast on the kitchen floor. We used flour, eggs, oil, milk, oatmeal, bread, orange juice, cereal, syrup, sugar. If we had seen it used for making breakfast, or any meal, it was on the floor, and mixed up, and all over both of us. at some point my mom woke up, to the sounds of us playing loudly in the kitchen, that’s when all hell broke loose. My mom came into the kitchen and found us covered from head to toe in a flour sugar syrup mixture, and it was every where, on the kitchen floor and walls and appliances. she picked us up one at a time and stripped us and put us in the bathtub together and told us not to move. While she went to the kitchen to try to clean up our creation
I remember my mom and dad painting a bedroom blue, and thought it was neat, how the walls changed color, so one day I decided that I was going to paint some of the furniture blue, and the kitchen table got the blue paint as well as the hard wood floors in the house, as well as my little sister, my mom got home from work to find us covered in blue paint, Dad was sleeping most of the day, he worked at the local steel mill on a swing shift schedule, which coupled with his drinking problem, he either slept a lot or didn’t really remember much the next day. At such a young age I had not been exposed to much violence, other than a angry outburst from my dad about his food not being hot enough, or some other small thing. I was about 4 years old when I witnessed my dad put his hands on my mother for the first time, he was drunk and pissed off about something she had done, and he smacked her across the face, the next day I remember my mom with a black eye, and her planning all day while he was at work, what she was going to do to him, she waited in the house for him to come home from work, or the bar, which is where he would go after work for a few hours before coming home, she sat and waited with a frying pan by the door for the car to pull up in front of the house, I watched my dad walk up the side walk, and I went to the stairs to watch what was going to happen, my dad walked in the front door and as soon as he closed the front door my mom swung that frying pan, hit him in the head, he was out cold, fell to the floor, and she picked up a broom and proceeded to beat him with the wooded handle of the broom, Several hours later, Dad woke up, had no clue that he was hit with a frying pan, he was still drunk, he went to bed, and the next day my mom told him he better not ever put hir hands on her again. I don’t think he ever did again.
My first experience with the police came when I was 4 years old, my mom was at work, my dad was sleeping in the house, my sister was playing in our bedroom, and I found dad’s ammo box with .22 rifle shells, as well as a hammer, I took the ammo box outside to the side walk, and placed a shell upright on the concrete and hit it with the hammer, it made a very loud noise, I moved down a bit and placed another shell, and nothing happened, so I placed another one and hit it, big boom, I continued to move down the side walk placing and hitting shells, about 25 shells later the police showed up to stop me, the police didn’t put young me in cuffs, they took my hammer and my dad’s ammo box, and walked me back down the street to my house, and woke up my dad. I remember my mom coming home while the police were still there. My mom was having a conversation with one of the officer’s and I overheard my mom tell the officer, that she could not keep me in the house. The police officer’s response was for her to tie me to the bed on a leash, to keep me in the house. That was the 70’s.
In 2005 I walked down that street, and looked at the side walk from in front of my childhood home, down to two house’s from the end of the street, there were gouge’s that were consistent in the side walk’s concrete all the way down the street 30 years later.
I could write about other incidents from the early years, but what I would like you to note, is my ability to remember things from my early childhood with clear recollection.

Chapter 2 6 to almost 8
This part of my life was very difficult to deal with, a lot of things happened in this time period, that would define the next 22 years of my life. Around 6 years old, my dad started going out on my mom, with a family friend, her name was Cathy. My dad would make excuses of why he wasn’t home yet, or why he was gone so long, and he knew my mom had called the bar to find out where he was. Things got very difficult for her to handle. At some point my Mom figured out who he was stepping out with, and it was my moms best friend, who was also married. I remember the day of the fight between my mom and Cathy like it was yesterday, they went at it for about an hour, my mom dragged Cathy all over the front yard by her hair, while Michael Cathy’s husband was home and waiting for my dad to show up. My dad did show up, and Michael and my dad got into it, then my dad and my momma got into it, My dad lost a few teeth that day, I’m not sure who he lost the teeth to, the police did show up at some point and sent everyone on their way, my mom drove off with me and my sister in the car, my dad took off in his car and we drove back home. We got back home and dad didn’t show up for hours, he went to the bar. When he did come home my mom was waiting for him, she had already thrown all his things outside on the lawn, and she had that broom in her hands again when he got there. My dad never made it into that house, she hit him with that broom handle so many times I lost count. They went through a divorce, and the end result was that me and my sister was to live with my dad, years later I found out why my dad got custody of us, as he was the one who messed up the marriage. My dad got custody of my sister and me because he had a job and an education, despite the fact that he was an alcoholic, and a very angry man. My mom didn’t finish high school, so the judge deemed her unemployable and not able to take care of us kids.

About 3 months after my mom and dad split, I started 1st grade, the fall of 1976, it was in a all catholic school, boys in one room and girls in another, in the suburbs of Detroit. I already didn't have a good relationship with the nuns in the school from kindergarten, they kicked me out for throwing a little kids chair at sister Margret after she hit my hand with a ruler. A few months into first grade, a fellow kid named Allen, who I did not get along with, made a comment about my mom during lunch time. and I lost it, I hit him with my fist, and slammed his head into the desk, Sister Vicky, tried to intervene and stop me, when she finally got me off of Allen, I started hitting her, I thought she was being to rough with me, and I hit her 4 times, once in the face. I was taken to the main office and my Dad was called, They told my dad I was no longer allowed to be in the school, and that he would have to find a public school for me to go to. My dad decided to pull my sister out of Kindergarten at that school because he needed both of us in the same school. Needless to say, when we got home I got my butt beat really good by my dad.  About a week later, my sister and me started a new school called school 1,  about 3 months later my dad decided to move in with a lady he worked with and was dating, her name was Debbie, from the moment I met Debbie I did not like her, in my little boys head she was trying to replace my mom, I felt like she did not like us kids, and that she was always trying to boss me around, my sister was afraid of her so she didn't push back, I was not afraid, I had it in my mind if I was so bad she would leave, we moved into an apartment complex in the suburbs, and Dad and Debbie got married. While they were on their honeymoon, someone stayed at the house with us, one day during their honeymoon, I got a pair of wire cutter's from my dad's tool box and went outside and started cutting air conditioner wires, all over the apartment complex, come to find out years later I cut the low voltage wires on 96 apartments, I was 7 years old at this time, I got caught doing it, and was taken to the front office of the apartment complex, someone called my dads house phone and our babysitter Mrs. O. answered, and had to come to the office and get me, from the police and the office. My Dad came back from his Honeymoon, and found out what I had done, and was given a bill for the repairs, I got one of the worst ass whippings I can remember from my dad that night. For me from early on I learned that anger and violence was a way to deal with things.

One night after the wire cutting incident, I was sitting on the stairs in the apartment, listening to my Dad and Now Step Mom talking, and Debbie gave my dad an ultimatum, to find some place to get me help or she would leave, I was so happy that she was ready to throw in the towel and leave, it seemed to me that everything I had done worked, this was the spring of 1977. What I didn't know was how much my dad wanted to be with Debbie, so much so that he would put his only son away.   One day about a month later, my dad said that we were all going out to dinner, my sister and I got into the back seat of the car, Debbie in the passenger seat, and my Dad driving. we went on a very long car ride, we ended up in Farmington, we went to dinner, and after dinner which was very early in the day, we got back in the car and drove a few miles down the road. we stopped at a strange building, and we all got out of the car. we went inside and it was very strange smelling, now I know it was bleach and industrial cleaning supplies.  After we showed up, a few guys with white jackets showed up as well, my dad introduced me to a Doctor, I had no idea what was happening or about to happen. My dad and me followed the guys with the white jackets up a flight of stairs, he left my sister with Debbie. Once we were up stairs my Dad bent down on a knee and told me that I was going to have to stay with the Doctor, that they were going to try to help me deal with my Anger issues and behavior problems, I was crying and pleading with my dad to not leave me, I was holding on to him as tight and as hard as I could, I was no match for grown men, they separated  me from my Dad with ease. My Dad was crying, and he turned his back on me, and walked out the door, and back down the steps, This part of the facility had a large picture window on the second floor, that looked out into the parking lot, I saw my Dad and Sister holding hands as they walked back to the car, with my stepmom walking behind them, I was pounding on the window as hard as I could. I caught both my sister's and dad attention, they both looked up at me in the window, both had tears in their eyes. The moment my Dad drove away, I made a vow in my little head that I would get her back. That nobody was going to control me or so called tame me. The white coats took me into a hallway and showed me a room they called my room, and then took me to an area where there were other kids in a dayroom area, some of the other kids were playing others had a very blank look on their faces, most of these kids were a few years older than me.

A few days after I was placed at the children’s psychological hospital, I got into altercation fight with another kid in the facility, he was older and bigger than me, and I felt like he was picking on me because I was new, and didn’t really understand what was going on, as I’m older, I realize this was the evaluation period, where they would study me and try to see how I reacted to different types of stimuli, with my day to day interactions with the staff and other kids (patients). during this altercation with this other kid, I got pulled apart from him by a white coat, (orderly) and I picked up a broom that was just laying there, I started to hit the other white coat, not purposely, but he was holding the other kid I was fighting with. he got a cut on his face near his eye and he came after me, I remember him grabbing me up and I ended up in a very strange coat with my arms and hands across my chest. I was still kicking and trying to bite like a wild animal, they carried me into an all white room and strapped me down so I couldn’t kick anymore, they then pulled my white pants down and gave me a shot, and out I went. I have no idea how long I was out for, there is no sense of time in a place like this. A few days later I met with a Doctor, his name Ironically was Dr. Sane. according to records I would later come into contact with from observations and testing, and clinical evaluations, and personal interviews, Dr. Sane made a diagnosis of me, a 7 year old boy, of Type A personality with explosive aggressive tendencies. he prescribed some type of medication, that they would give me at night and in the afternoon. It did seem to calm me down, I got to a point that they would allow me to go outside with the rest of the kids, with out the risk of me trying to run away. I remember my Dad and sister coming to see me a few times while I was there, Debbie was always in the car. I did not see my mom, my mom didn’t even know I was placed into this psych hospital for children, my dad kept it from my mom, after my mom and grandfather found out where I was, my mom with the help of my grandfather, filed in court to try to get me released to their custody. Their attempts failed, as my dad had full legal and physical custody of me, and there was a legal diagnosis from Dr. Sane, with a full treatment plan. The judge ruled with my dad and kept me in the psych hospital for another month. During the time I was in the psych hospital, I figured out the only way for my to go home was to behave. so I took my meds, keep my hands to myself, and tried to keep my anger controlled, the meds did most of the work.

Then came the day I was supposed to go home, it was 1 month before my 8th birthday, late summer 1978. I was standing by that big window, watching as my Dad got out of his Ford ltd and walking to the front door to get me. he came up those stairs to the second floor, and I ran into his open arms and held on as tight as I possibly could, he didn't bring Debbie, or my sister, it was just him and me. I was going to go home and this hell would be a thing of the past. or so I thought. there were other plans in place I had no idea about. Plans that would dramatically alter the trajectory of any treatment plans in place or any future of a productive member of society, for at least 22 1/2 years. Plans that turned a very angry child into a potential killer.